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This poem is taken from PN Review 243, Volume 45 Number 1, September - October 2018.

Five Poems Clare Jones
Living fossil

There were days I doubted I’d ever spoken words.
             I saw clawed toads all without tongues.
There was only smoke where the fire was,
             so I sat in whale light. I slept alone.
I found each morning rocks that rose
             like shoulderblades out of the sea:
             a life was a long time
    to be no one’s father, being
                 a shovel in the ground.

When stardust flecked the river stones,
             and leaves like greaseprints smudged the paths,
I looked for signs left behind by birds:
             seeds eaten, broken grass, a line across the lily.
I looked for feathers rubbed off like scales.
             My inner ear staggered at the climb.
             I knew no wind
             would make it through so much:

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